ceasefire
by drakegeorgemerwin
Summary: Drake and Brianna cross paths in the desert one day and make arrangements for their boredom.
1. just about square

Author's note: A couple of years ago, I had a similar fanfic posted that I never finished. I recently revisited the Gone books, and my passion for this very garbage, unlikely pairing is still there. This is a re imagining of that. Maybe I'll get around to finishing it this time round. This takes place between Gone and Hunger.

* * *

Drake blinked, and she was there: pigtails, bowie knife, smirk and all. He didn't know if he was annoyed or excited to see her.

"Found you!"

"What a pleasant surprise." He unfurled his whip arm. She narrowed her eyes.

"Aw, didn't mean to catch you off guard, Drake-y!" She vanished, and he cracked his whip arm. "Over here, big guy." He turned to see her grinning proudly, one hand on her hip, the other casually flicking hair off her shoulder-he didn't think she would be so proud when he had her on her stomach, flesh exposed. He would teach her a lesson for her arrogance.

"You're a little far from Perdido Beach, Breeze."

"Well," she started, tapping her foot so fast it looked like she was missing it, "it was getting boring. There's nothing to do. No one to fight. I'm sure _you're_ bored on Caine's leash." Drake flinched as if he'd been hit at the mention of Caine-and Brianna saw it, her eyes flashing. But he swallowed his pride to not give her the satisfaction.

"Part of me thinks you're not supposed to be here-that Sam'll get upset if he finds out you've been visiting Coates. That could throw off the little peace we've got going on. I don't think you want to do that… " The red spreading across her cheeks was all sorts of amusing. She stepped closer, leaned in ever-so-slightly as if to scrutinize him further. His whip arm twitched more. _Get closer,_ he thought. _I dare you._

"I'm not going to _do_ anything…" She said with a mocking pout.

"And _that's_ why you brought the knife? I thought we'd have some fun."

Brianna rolled her eyes, unsheathing her knife in the blink of an eye. She was in whip-arm's reach, now. "I think we've got very different ideas of fun." Drake grinned his shark's grin.

"We're Coates kids at heart, Breeze," he said, half-sarcastic, half-not, "you're thinking what I'm thinking. I want to whip you bloody, and you want to cut me up. Even-steven. Just about square." Her fists clenched. Her ears turned red. He thought that she might be the most impulsive, uncontrolled person he knew-and he knew himself pretty well. It felt only natural to push further. She wanted a reaction, but so did he. "I don't think we're too different."

It was like clockwork. The second (perhaps even the half, third, quarter, millisecond) that left his mouth, she was right there before him, glaring up, furious, the tip of her knife pressed delicately against his dirty shirt. Drake was almost nervous to breathe: she could be stupid enough to try something, and he was completely certain she was fast enough to make it happen.

"I'm nothing like you, and I never will be!" She snarled, her lip curling in contempt. "Even if I _do_ want to cut you up and feed you to the coyotes before I kill them too. You make me sick. It's what you deserve." The knife went deep enough so that he could feel the tip through his shirt. There was determination, resolve, hate in those eyes. A thrill traveled through his spine, and the hairs on his neck stood straight.

"You think you're so righteous. How naive." Drake lashed out his whip arm, fast enough to catch her off guard, fast enough to catch her wrist. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened ever-so-slightly as if she wanted to cry out… But, to his disappointment, she didn't make a sound. "I know you won't kill me, Breeze. Not today."

She began to squirm, rolling her wrist as fast as she could to escape from his grip. It was nothing but a mere annoyance to him. "Let me _go_." His grin got wider, his grip got tighter.

"You've got such a dainty little wrist. If I squeezed hard enough…"

Suddenly, he felt something sharp against his cheek. Her other hand, he realized. She slapped him. "I'm sorry, did my dainty little wrist and my daintier hand do that?"

"You insolent little _bitch_."

Drake pulled her closer, his grip on her wrist so tight that the pain forced her to release the knife. She used her other hand to try and pry the whip off, shouting curses, but to no avail. He would laugh at her feeble attempts if he weren't so mad. Why was she so smug? Why wasn't she cowering?

He used his free hand to wrap around her throat. She did her best to look aloof, unintimidated, but there was something in those dangerous eyes of hers-a flash of fear, excitement. It might've been imagined, it might've been real. Drake felt his heart pounding as he squeezed gently. He could kill her. He could do whatever he wanted. And yet…

Against every fiber of his being, against his every desire, he let go of her. Brianna, to his surprise, didn't dash away from him. She merely caught her breath.

"Today isn't my day either, Drake-y. But we can still play."

He raised an eyebrow, and she looked up at him to smile that stupid, proud, dazzling smile of hers that he would have ruined, he could have ruined if he just let himself. _You'd be bored_ , a voice in the back of his head went.

 _Not today._

"Same time tomorrow. I won't bring a knife so we can be just about-" Brianna paused and drew out a square with her fingers, just like he'd seen in some movie, "-square."

"See you, Breeze."

And just as quickly as she came, she was gone.

Drake picked up her forgotten knife and wondered what he had gotten himself into.


	2. the first rule

Author's note: I happen to be very proud of my ship name for them: whiplash. Just thought I'd share it because I'm so unreasonably proud.

* * *

"You came."

There was not even a hint of surprise in her tone.

Two words out of her mouth and Drake was already irritated. _It's like she needs to be insufferable._

Brianna was beaming, but there wasn't anything particularly cheerful in her smile. It was menacing, he thought. Mischievous. For just a second, he imagined her going against her word.

She could start with his arm. It twitched uncomfortably at the thought. When that was gone, he only had strength over her. And he'd have to _catch_ her first-he could hardly do that _with_ a whip arm. But part of him knew, somehow, she'd let him keep it. Maybe she'd only nick him. Annoy him till he lashed out, hurt her, upset her. He was confident that _if_ he caught her, she'd be done with. But… There was the slim chance that she'd best him. Cut him up like she'd promised. She'd smirk as she leaned over his body.

He shook the image from his head.

No. He was better than that.

"I mean, I could've brought my knife and ended it right here and now, but there's a little problem." She gestured to the empty sheath. "You're stupid _and_ lucky."

Her knife was on his desk. It was sharp, pretty, lightweight. Drake decided to keep it. "You could've brought a gun."

"Not really my style. There's nothing personal about it. And I really liked that knife." She pursed her lips into a pout before letting out a dramatic sigh. "I guess I wasn't going to use it on you today, anyways. I promised."

Drake snorted. "I knew you wouldn't. But I'm not sure what a promise is supposed to mean nowadays. Especially from you."

"What does _that_ mean?" There was a shift in her tone, in her stance. It was almost comedic. Riling her up was too easy. Maybe he could get her back where she was yesterday-and maybe he could make things right this time around, too.

"I'm sure you promised Sammy and the gang not to get into trouble. Look where you are now."

"I _did_ promise… But I'd hardly say I'm in trouble here," she scoffed.

"Trouble is _why_ you're here, Brianna. It's just how you handle it." He smirked, letting his whip arm unravel completely. Brianna moved closer. "So let's play, like you said."

Immediately, he snapped his whip arm for her to barely side-step it. Within seconds she was in front of him, pushing him full-force, full-speed. Drake stumbled backwards, nearly losing his balance. He didn't even register what happened till he saw the smirk on her face. She kept in close range just to tease him, he was sure. To invite him to try again. "What were you saying?"

He would _show_ her trouble now. Drake decided not to waste his energy with quips like she was anymore-he lashed out again and again, as fast as he could manage. It was nearly impossible to see her _moving_ -hell, it looked like she wasn't moving at all. All he could see was her smile, and it drove him crazy. Brianna wasn't shying away-she was coming _closer_.

Maybe…

Drake wouldn't think, he would just _do_ now: he snapped his whip towards the ground, near her feet.

Whether it was a slip-up on her part or a miracle on his, it had worked. Brianna collapsed onto her back, and he felt, for a second, he could move as fast as her. He snaked his whip arm around an ankle and tugged her towards him in one jerky motion.

He saw the discomfort, the pain in her expression-her shirt had ridden up. Part of her back was dragging across the desert ground. " _Bastard!_ " She spat, her other leg writhing wildly. As he descended to her level, she used her fists to try and beat him off. Drake found it charming, almost _cute_. "I'd say you're in trouble now. Or are you still going to pretend you're in control?"

When his legs straddled her sides and held her in place, he released her ankle. "Wow. I didn't think you could be quiet for this long," he taunted, now working to pin her squirming arms above her head. Brianna glared up at him, gaze steely, tumultuous. His whip arm curled around her wrists nicely ("Is this one still sore?" he made sure to ask, squeezing), and all the bucking of her hips in the world could not make him budge. Drake leaned over her, watching her. She didn't shy away from his gaze. He wanted _fear_ , but he appreciated her spirit-he would just appreciate whipping it out of her more. He spat at her cheek (which he was met a satisfying flinch) before patting it in with his free hand once, twice and running his fingers roughly over her lips. Contempt suited her, he thought. And so did his spit. "I like you like-"

Brianna snapped at his lingering hand, and Drake cursed, forcing her away from him like she was some rabid animal. His hand was bleeding. Before he could do anything else, _say_ anything else, Brianna leaped on top of _him_ now, forcing him onto his back, her tiny hands immediately wrapping around his throat and squeezing. "Aw, Drake, I like you like this too." Determination. Pleasure. Her eyes didn't hide anything.

Drake could hardly believe what was happening. He'd never been more embarrassed, more furious. He was _shaking_ with anger. This tiny, arrogant, pain in his neck had caught him off guard. With his head no longer in the clouds, he wrapped his whip arm around her waist and tossed her off him. The yelp she made as she landed was music to his ears.

"God _damn_ ," she spat, inspecting her bloodied, cut up hands.

Drake was still catching his breath.

"You know, I have to report back looking like this."

He glanced over at her while tending to the bite mark on his hand. She _did_ look like a mess: pigtails awry, legs cut-up, dirt just about everywhere-Drake found he liked it. "I know."

"It's nothing a fall can't explain, though..."

 _Apart from the skin laceration on the ankle and wrist, sure_ , he thought. "You break promises _and_ you lie now?"

"Hardly," she pouted, finally getting off the ground. "Besides, the first rule is you don't talk about this." Drake rolled his eyes. "Like the movie."

"I got that."

"You watch movies? I thought you were cutting heads off or scheming in your free time or something."

"Says the girl who wants to pick a fight in hers."

Brianna grinned. "How about Thursday? I can't come tomorrow."

"Not like I have anything better to do."

She paused a second while tying her shoes. She looked up at him. "You should go through my dorm at Coates. I've got movies under the bed, something to keep you occupied while I'm busy."

"Maybe."

"Bye, Drake."


End file.
